


insight desperate to avoid

by meyecy



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Gen, Suicidal Thoughts (mentioned), in denial pre-flystep, look it's sidestep y'all already know what's up, self loathing (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyecy/pseuds/meyecy
Summary: It's been one month since you debuted as a villain under your old name. Not everyone is willing to accept this new Sidestep dragging your name down.Herald least of all.





	insight desperate to avoid

**Author's Note:**

> didn’t mean for this to be my first public FH:R fanwork instead of my private headcanons and doodles, but that’s how it be sometimes

You regret waiting for Ortega in the Rangers HQ the second Herald comes in and spots you drinking their shitty hot chocolate, veering from his path to the fridge to hover nervously — literally, you can see his feet are off the ground — about three feet away from you.

It’s been a month since the museum, and he’s clearly still recovering from injuries you refuse to look at, but this is the first time you’ve had a chance to speak since. Specifically, this is the first time he’s tracked you down and looked like he actually might manage to say something.

You take a long, _ long _ sip of what is not the worst hot choc you’ve ever had but is definitely up there because Chen won’t shell out for the good shit, watching him fidget. It’d be endearing if you weren’t, well. You. 

“What’s up, Barold?” you say to break the silence when your cup is empty, lounging on the sofa like you own it. Is it a good idea to get so comfy here? Probably not.

You haven’t made a good decision in seven years, though.

“Whiskey,” he starts, all careful and deliberate, and you groan and put a hand up.

“Daniel. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“But—”

“It’s about Sidestep, right? I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Whiskey, they took your name. They debuted by _ destroying your exhibit _—”

You grit your teeth and crush the shitty paper cup on your knee, getting chocolate remnants on your leggings. Okay, gross. Not entirely your intention. “It’s not _ my _ exhibit, is it? It’s Sidestep’s. Not like they consulted me on any of it. Not like I fucking asked for it, either.”

Herald does that awful, horrible little kicked puppy face he does, all sad blue eyes and perfect, kissable photoshopped model lips turned down, teeth worrying at his lower lip. Fuck, you hate him. You hate him and his dumb little blonde ponytail, his dumb delicate hands not quite reaching out for you because he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, his dumb naked concern for your reputation and well-being even though you’re actively working to destroy everything he stands for.

He’s so, _ so _ dumb. Part of you wants to twist that belief in you, that pure trust that you’re his immovable, unbreakable hero, wants to take his admiration and crush it like the cup in your hands. There is nothing good here. There is nothing _ salvageable _here, no matter how much he believes in you or whatever.

“They couldn’t consult you,” he starts, wincing at the way your expression darkens, “because you were dead.”

“Exactly,” you say, spitting the word like it’s something foul at the back of your throat, trying to calm down. This is ruining your chill look. “I’m not Sidestep anymore,” and oh, you’re lying for entirely different reasons than he thinks, “so it’s no longer my problem.”

To your surprise, Herald does not argue with that, and he just kind of… goes quiet and sits down, getting on your level instead of looming over you like some high and mighty model superhero. After a moment, he reaches out for you, but you don’t move to meet him halfway and his hand drops into his lap.

“Whiskey,” he says softly, watching you wipe the hot chocolate remnants off your hands and onto your jorts, “I know. I know you’re not Sidestep anymore, but Sidestep is — was — no, _ is _ very important to me. I don’t want your — their — name and reputation dragged through the mud like this.”

You shift, uncomfortable under the weight of his honesty, uncomfortable in general. Who cares this much about Sidestep? About you? You never even were a Ranger, just a scrappy vigilante who came a dime a dozen, whose only notable achievements were the nanovore incident and being then-Marshal Charge’s buddy. You can’t imagine Daniel on the opposite side of the country, even younger and even more idealistic, tuning into the news and every night and combing through every news website, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

It fills you with warmth and dread in equal parts. For a moment, just a brief, fleeting second, you think about quitting right then and there. Think about letting new Sidestep fall into obscurity, think about letting _ yourself _ fall into obscurity. Dead once again. But you can’t. You can’t stop now, no matter how much you want to, no matter that you know you’ve gone too far. You have nothing else.

“I’ll stop them.” Daniel’s — _ Herald _ ’s voice cuts through your thoughts, suddenly resolute and solid in a way you haven’t managed in years, concern wrapping around and suffocating you like a blanket. “I know you’re not Sidestep, Whiskey. I know,” wrong. Correct, but so _ wrong _, “but I can’t sit idly by while they ruin Sidestep’s good name.” 

Herald wants to stop Sidestep. Wants to stop _ you _. Can he go through with it? Probably not, not in the way you want to. He doesn’t have the nerves of Steel (heh) or the look of someone prepared to kill. 

“Well,” you say as you get up, Ortega forgotten completely and replaced by a burning need to get out of here, “don’t let me stop you.”

_ Really. Please. Don’t let me stop you, _ you think, _ because I don’t want to have to stop you instead _.

If he says anything, if he reaches out for you, you block it out. It takes the wind blowing your hair into your face to realise you’re outside, leaning against the HQ wall, feeling like you might be sick.

Fuck.


End file.
